


Efforts in Mending

by Failed_to_Deanon



Series: The Practice of Mending [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Drama, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Married Life, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:16:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6240754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Failed_to_Deanon/pseuds/Failed_to_Deanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this sequel to "Mending Endeavors" an unexpected event compromises the already delicate status quo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The disclaimer: I own nothing. All things recognizable are property of G.R.R. Martin, David Benioff, D.B. Weiss, & company, & the asoiaf wiki.
> 
> I hope readers who enjoyed Mending Endeavors enjoy this one as well.

“I have sent for His Grace.” 

An unnecessary announcement, Elia thinks, when the Grand Maester’s apprentice flew out of the room as though the Stranger was after him mere moments ago.

She tells herself to breathe. To become harried now would do no good.

Things could worsen easily enough.

Her eyes return to the Maester. Ordinarily the poorly hidden reaction he has when confronted with her infirmities is satisfaction and false concern. Now, however, despite remaining stubbornly mute, his face is flush with confusion and irritation. 

She does not understand his confusion. Even if this was...surprising and while he might not know her body as she does, he forged links. He should not be confused.

The irritation, however, rankles. It was if he believed this current malady resulted from a deliberate effort to shatter his pretensions of competence. 

Even if she believed him free from such thoughts, his expression makes her want to give into her already simmering agitation and so she remains silent. She owes him nothing, let alone a reaction when he clearly desires one.

As it was she can barely contain her own grimace; this situation had not been her fault. 

She internally amends, _not entirely_ her fault. 

Perhaps it was that which bothers the man now. Hearing the rustle of skirts and the soft, tense exhale of breath from besides her she knows this situation will bother more than just the Maester.

Hearing the rustle of skirts again, while she knows others may be displeased with the result of the Maester’s examination, she cannot say she is. Yet, since a babe in her mother’s arms she is familiar with causing difficulties for others. Now, unwanted, the feeling bubbles in her once more. In this moment, however, it is not thoughts of the displeasure of most she is consumed with, be it the man in front of her or the woman beside her. 

There is nothing to be done about the Maester’s reaction or Lyanna stubbornly insisting to stay while the Maester completed his examination. It was too late to prevent anything being done. Without her trying for it, trouble seems to find her easily enough and there is no need to borrow more of it.

In her state, however, the urge to give into responding in a way many surely will find fault with is a near certainty. This is why she settles for a quick, “Thank you, Maester.”

She does not acknowledge his too sharp nod of agreement. 

And yet, it is no small relief she can, if only for the briefest of moments, push thoughts of silent maesters or accusing, grey-eyed women away when Rhaegar enters the room with Oswell Whent marching a half step behind him. 

The apprehension in Rhaegar’s violet eyes is prominent. She wonders if it will vanish or intensify with this revelation. She cannot say for certain which reaction she desires more. She cannot say with any certainty how Rhaegar would react. Once she might have been absolutely sure.

“What happened? Is everything well?”

She hesitates. Two years ago, one year ago perhaps, her answer would have been yes, immediately and without hesitation. Now, what can she say? _What should she say?_

Besides her Lyanna springs up. As the girl, and Elia despite knowing better, sometimes still thinks of her that way, rushes towards Rhaegar. “Your Grace-” 

‘Your Grace’. “Your Grace” is not ‘My love’, ‘Husband’, or even, ‘Rhaegar’. Her shoulders slump. They slump further seeing how Lyanna clearly longs to make her escape. 

She cringes when Lyanna answers Rhaegar’s questioning look with a rushed, “Excuse me, I should go”. The anxiousness she tried to push away sharpens when Lyanna bolts out the room with Rhaegar and Ser Oswell staring after her.

It is too silent, she thinks. As quickly as the thought comes the damnable Maester lets out a far too deliberate cough and flees from the room leaving her with Rhaegar.

“What happened?”

Trying to regain some semblance of calm she does not feel, she squares her shoulders. “The Maester had some unexpected news.”

She winces. Rhaegar’s confusion gives way to concern quickly, but, he turns to the door as if hoping either Lyanna or the Maester will come back through it and give him a proper answer. “Unexpected news? Is something wrong with her, Elia?”

 _Wrong with Lyanna?_ Hysterics finally getting the better of her, she howls with laughter. She laughs harder at looks Rhaegar and Ser Oswell give her. 

If she laughs she might not cry. She does not want to do that when she long since had her fill of tears. Of course, by the time her frenzy subsides her eyes are wet. 

They still stare. 

She takes a breath. “Lyanna? She is well.”

They frown at her; surely thinking she is lying. Perhaps she was in a way. Lyanna was well physically. It was everything else which she could name which would make it a lie. Confused. Shocked. Worried. Hurt. Lyanna could be of it or more. She could not judge. She is in no state to judge anything. In truth, she does not have it in her to find out just yet; and certainly not when Rhaegar is still unaware.

“She ran out of here.” The heightened sense of unease, both Rhaegar’s and her own, cause her shoulders shake again.

Stifling her rising consternation, trying for firm and likely failing, she repeats, “Lyanna is perfectly well.” 

It answers nothing, but, she hopes it might reassure Rhaegar. She hopes it might reassure herself knowing it will not.

Oh gods, she thinks bitterly… Lyanna will have to be fine. Her shoulders slump again. No, that is not…

She shakes herself and straightens. She will have to try to fix things with Lyanna later, if she can. At this moment, however, Rhaegar seemed poised to speak again and only the gods know where his thoughts may lead when her own thoughts have not ceased moving. “Lyanna brought me here to see the Maester.”

“You?” Rhaegar deflates. 

Relief. Rhaegar feels relief. 

Suddenly irritated, she almost shouts.

She tells him she needed to see a maester and he is _calmed_! How accustomed to her “frailty” he must be. She only suppresses her annoyance because he would hardly be the first or last to think of her ‘illnesses’ with regularity. That and how she chose to reconcile with Rhaegar. It would take more than effort for everything to be righted and Rhaegar had always been a different sort of man. Besides, at her mother’s heels she learned anger is a wasteful emotion. Even if she could summon it, she is too anxious. 

Working herself up is not going to help matters at all. 

She breathes deeply wondering if a simple sickness would have made her this hesitant. Perhaps, it might have been better.

Laughter threatens to escape her again. What might have been does not matter.

Looking up again, she sees clouds form on Rhaegar’s face. The concern is still genuine. Something to take heart in? Even now she cannot be sure.

She tenses when Rhaegar sits next to her and takes her hand. Remaining silent, she does not know what to do with this odd yet familiar uncomfortable thing remaining between them. Who knows where this may lead?

“What is wrong?” 

Her hand jumps in his and he holds it tighter. 

Wrong? Nothing. Wrong? Everything. 

Taking another breath works marginally to steady her. 

She lets out another hysterical laugh which only serves to increase Rhaegar’s worry.

Rather than bring herself to look at Rhaegar, she turns to see Oswell Whent’s equally anxious face shifting. Obviously finding something in her expression, his face becomes a study in horrified realization.

She is unsurprised at that. Knights are supposed to be quick thinking and the men of the Kingsguard are the pinnacle of knighthood. What shocks her is how quickly his horror becomes amusement. As if to prove her impression, the knight laughs loudly. 

She flinches back and Rhaegar’s hand tightens against hers. When Rhaegar glares at Whent, she winces again. 

But, Whent, for once, is not looking at Rhaegar. Rather, he is staring at her, his lips quivering. 

She stiffens. He finds this comical. 

The nervousness in her is gone now, replaced by ire.

Of course, he finds this amusing. This is not his life. He is just a spectator and they get to take delight in such things. 

Naturally, he catches her watching him. The mirth on his face slips quickly. He dips his head. An apology, she recognizes.

But, then, he gives her a soft smile.

It shakes her.

Oswell Whent has looked at her courteously, pityingly, and perhaps brazenly even; never gently. What was this now?

She does not understand completely why relief fills her when the man grins easily at Rhaegar’s terse, “Oswell?”

It is almost comforting to see the playful grin she knows. “Your Grace?” It sounds as though the knight is trying to fight off another bought of laughter. This time it rankles less. 

“Are you ill, as well?” 

Before her guilt settles further about increasing Rhaegar’s worry, Oswell guffaws again. “No, my king. I am not ill.” He leans forward, grinning almost conspiratorially. “Your worry is needless.”

Whether it is was for Rhaegar or for her, at those words she feels lighter even if only for a moment. Ser Oswell Whent is Rhaegar’s man. He always had been. That has to count for something, she thinks. She hopes it counts for something. That hope and having to acknowledge how Rhaegar should know emboldens her enough to intercede. “No one is ill, Rhaegar.”

Rhaegar’s pivot towards her is sharp and Oswell only laughs harder. Her husband looks between them and gives them both incredulous looks. It was as if he believed them mad. Perhaps she is because she is more at ease now than she ought to be. It may be fleeting, but, for now…

Doubtfully, he asks, “You are not ill? Then, what?”

Oswell snickers and this time she finds herself giving in. It is either laugh or cry and this was nothing to cry about. That the gods chose this path for her astounds her and absolutely perplexes her; but, she should not feel anything less than joy. She has no right to feel anything less. 

Whatever may come, she resolves not to feel anything less. This is everything to take joy in.

Obviously grown more confused and increasingly anxious, Rhaegar prompts, Elia?”

She sneaks a glance at the knight again and gets an encouraging look in return. It was pleasant to see, but, she realizes, it is not something she requires in this moment.

Now without trying a smile comes to her lips easily. “I am with child.”

All she can see now is Rhaegar’s smile and all she can feel is the taste of his lips on hers.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who took the time to read, left kudos & comments, and bookmarked the story.
> 
> Disclaimer: I own nothing and that all things recognizable are property of G.R.R. Martin, David Benioff, D.B. Weiss, & company, & the asoiaf wiki.

Though Rhaegar smiles at her every time she catches him looking, the sense of unease since Lyanna’s arrival has not melted away. It is more uncomfortable when there are only four people at the table and the Lannister knight in attendance.

Her happiness, combined with Rhaegar’s, had only dulled the memory of Lyanna’s shock and hurt for so long. Now, every time Lyanna saw her looking the younger woman quickly returned her gaze to her plate. The way Lyanna disinterestedly picks at her food with downturned lips does not sit well with her.

The crueler part of her marvels at Lyanna’s dismay, but, who better knew the pain of witnessing her husband’s animation at having gotten a child on someone else than she?

“Are you sick?”

Viserys is frowning. She dislikes seeing this more than she does Lyanna’s morose expression. Though there has been little for Viserys to be happy about since Rhaella’s death, such a sour expression does not belong on a child’s face. Aerys’ death had crushed him, but, she, too, mourns Rhaella.

She tries to suppress the chill running through her. Rhaella died in the childbed. She almost had once. She still might when Viserys thinks her ill already.  
She tries to will that foul thought away. She clutches at the memory of Rhaegar’s face when she could finally got out the words; of those beautiful eyes filling with warmth and that mouth twisted up into a smile. 

Now, though, she must look into sullen lilac ones rather than vibrant indigo.

Alas, if Rhaegar was concerned about her health, his worshipful brother would not allow himself to be left behind.

“I am not sick.” 

Predictably, his expression grows dubious. She dislikes that expression too. 

She looks to Rhaegar who gives a smile and a nod. Jaime Lannister also crooks his neck forward, obviously interested. Ah, Whent had done well to keep this secret, but, it was time. Past time, in truth; no secret remains one when too many already knew. “I am not sick. I am with child.”

The boy gapes. Unsurprisingly, Viserys looks to Rhaegar, as if only his word could be trusted, to see Rhaegar smiling again. The smile, that beautiful smile, is bright. It is just like the one he gave her when she told him. But, Viserys is not Rhaegar and there is no smile for her in that paling face or in those wide purple eyes.

“Viserys?” 

Weariness grips her when the boy turns to Rhaegar and Lyanna noticeably puzzled and no less ashen. Seeing Rhaegar’s furrowed brow and Lyanna’s attention firmly on her plate, when Viserys frowns, she tries not to do the same. 

He stutters, “Child? You are having a baby.” 

She does not marvel at his surprise. Why would she? She only just welcomed Rhaegar back in her bed. In her most fevered imaginings she never thought she would have a child so quickly after her husband’s other wife bore one. Why would a boy of eight years think this true when sitting at a table with her husband, her husband’s other wife, and his brother? 

This is not the life she sought for herself. If this is not how she expected to bring a child into the world, why would Viserys?

She nearly shakes with the effort to keep still. She cannot allow her fears begin to fester. No one could have expected this, but, no matter their expectations, this is what is. She will not deny taking joy in having a child or trust that things cannot be better. She does not have the right. But, gods it is difficult to not think of what haunted so many of her nights. “There will be another child in our house soon.”

Viserys unsteadily muses, “You will have a baby, just like mother.” 

“Yes, just like mother did.”

Rhaegar smile accompanied the words. Though she would like to do the same, she cannot. She knows what will come. Before she can think to speak she hears: “Will you die like her too?” 

Though she expected it, she still flinches. “Quiet, Viserys!”

Too focused on Rhaegar’s hard slap at the table, she almost misses Lyanna’s gasp. Viserys looks petrified. She stares as the boy’s eyes widen spectacularly and he flushes a deep red. From the corner of her vision she sees Lannister, still silent, give the boy a disapproving look. Had this been any other moment, she would have spoken up, but, now…

Fearful, she clasps her hand around Rhaegar’s. His eyes snap towards her and his jaw is clenched tightly. She quickly shakes her head. She hopes he knows her thoughts and that he will say nothing more. They cannot afford the flare of tempers or words no one will forget and Viserys is a child. If she does die, this is not what she wants Viserys to remember.

Her eyes burn. Although trying to force herself to remain calm, she feels herself shaking. Artlessness from a child’s mouth or not the thought of dying passed through her mind more than once. 

She does not want to think of it now, but, she can hardly blame a boy for thinking what everyone else in this room already possibly had at one point or another. Despite pleasure at the prospect of her being with child, she cannot stop thinking of it.

“Viserys, dear…” Disliking the weak timbre to her voice, she tries to suppress a grimace. She does not want him to believe she her weakness is because of him.

The youth’s eyes reluctantly shift away from Rhaegar’s very still form to wearily peer at her. A subdued “I am sorry, Elia” leaves his trembling mouth. 

“I know.” She does. 

“I will not lie to you.” Her heart twists when the boy’s face grows ashen again, but, knowing the need, she hastily trudges forward. “It does happen and it may happen. But, Rhaegar and I will take the best of precautions.”

She would have liked to tell him anything else except that, but, Viserys lost Rhaella to the childbed and she almost died once before. His fears are not foolish, she will not treat them as such. 

Rhaegar’s addition is far too firm. “It is not for you to worry over Viserys. Elia is not mother and these are not those trying times. Besides, Elia is correct. We will take every precaution.”

“Father said she almost died before.” She would have called Viserys’ pout stubborn if he did not look as though he was about to cry. Had they been taking of anything else, she thinks she might have smiled. 

Rhaegar’s hand stiffen under hers. She feels the strain in his attempt to keep himself calm. She sends a silent prayer to the Mother to let them all get through this first. 

When Rhaegar does speak once again there is an unfamiliar edge to the voice; something furious and nervous. “Father said many things; some true, some not. Elia is still here and I will not have you thinking that way.” When it seemed Viserys was going to argue, Rhaegar, continues, somewhat more softly. “Targaryens do not give in that easy.”

She breathes out heavily. 

Was that for Viserys, for her, or himself? Despite the situation, she finds herself nodding along. She will not admit it is mostly for Viserys she even bothers to try. “Nor do Martells and I am both.”

She exhales when Viserys smiles at her uneasily. Not realizing he would think this way is her fault and she gladly takes this chance to give the boy the reassurance he clearly seeks. She owed Rhaella that much. “Quite right. I am still here. Rest assured, I love you all too much to not to attempt my fiercest in everything I do.”

Despite her words, her heart aches at the second weak smile from Viserys. But, what are truths when faced with a child’s fears? 

She tries again for a smile. She hopes it is more reassuring than the child’s effort. All the same, she quips, “Besides, I would never forgive himself if in my absence you grow to become a man who asks such inappropriate questions.”

The boy blushes fiercely when even Rhaegar laughs. If anyone else noted the slight sharpness to the sound, no one called attention to it. She would not. That Rhaegar can laugh and he does so because of her is a heady thing and most welcome even when it is forced. 

Viserys, clearly sensing a reprieve, next asks if he was the first of the children told. The show of impudent youth brings a smile to her face. Besides him, perhaps only Rhaenys might understand her condition.

When Rhaegar answers his brother’s question in the affirmative, his tone is steady. That is good, she thinks. They could all use a bit resoluteness even if it is for show.

Naturally, Viserys becomes braver. “Have you thought of names, yet?”

This time she stiffens. She feels the heat of Rhaegar’s gaze upon her. Thinking of a name he would have wanted once, her throat tightens. 

No! Not that name!

From across the table she sees how wide Lyanna’s eyes and pinched together her lips are. She probably thinks the same thing and likely fears the same thing.

She bites her lip only to lick away the slickness she feels mounting upon it, praying it was not blood.

It had been at his father’s ‘request’ Rhaegar named their daughter ‘Rhaenys’ and he had been the one to name Aegon. While she still a choice, though she might not live to have a choice, if she does have a daughter, Visenya will not be her name. 

It is only when Rhaegar clears his throat does she realize she was digging her nails into the back of his hand. Flushing heavily, she lets go, still unable to speak.

“It is early yet.”

She exhales deeply, absurdly thankful when she should not have to be. Gods, she does not think she could restrain herself if Rhaegar said anything else. 

Viserys suddenly looks hopeful. “Oh. Good. It gives me time to think of them.”

She wilts in relief and draws a shuddering breath.

Though the weariness which never left his eyes, tone far too light and all too false, Rhaegar asks her, “What do you think Elia? Shall we brave letting youth choose?” 

Perhaps he would have posed a different question had they been alone. For once, she counts it a blessing they are not.

Chasing those dreams destroyed so much. The potential for worse is still there. No, she cannot allow it.

She takes a breath. For now, the child before her deserves her attention, not the awful future which might never be. Seeing her nod, Rhaegar allows, “We will gladly hear suggestions from you.” Viserys is pleased or at least, he is until Rhaegar adds, “Or Rhaenys.” 

Viserys lets out a long suffering sigh. She hides her smile behind her hand. “You would let her choose?” When there is so little of normalcy in their lives she wholeheartedly welcomes any taste of it and will clutch it tightly while she can.

That is why she is relieved the glance Rhaegar gives Viserys is far less disapproving than the one he gave moments ago. Rhaegar’s voice, however, is stern. “Elia and I will choose. You and Rhaenys may make suggestions.”

How quickly things change…Weeks ago his easy capitulation would have raised her suspicions, but, she had not stayed in King’s Landing with the intention of not trusting Rhaegar. 

The look Rhaegar is giving her now, though, is something she cannot define. Have things changed?

But, she notes Viserys’ attempts to glance at her stealthily before he sighs gustily. “Alright then. If that’s what you want.” 

Though trying not to feel dismay at Viserys’ being the only reason Rhaegar holds his tongue, she feels another rush of affection for her good-brother. Blush still betraying him, Viserys turns back to Rhaegar and blithely informs the table at large, “I think I can choose a better name then she can.” 

Lannister lets out a strangled laugh and Rhaegar smiles at her over his chalice. “We will see.”

While she would have gladly let herself be swept up in the lightness surrounding her once again, the desolate expression on Lyanna’s face deprives her of any respite she might clung to.


	3. Chapter 3

Watching Lyanna distractedly swirl the contents of her wine goblet, she takes a sip of juice wishing the thrice-damned Maester would allow her something stronger. Unfortunately, she promised Viserys about taking the utmost care and Rhaegar gave his orders before venturing from the city.

Though Rhaegar had prepared her for it in his own way, knowing Lyanna’s reasons for coming to her door is more curse than boon.

She anticipated and dreaded this confrontation in equal measure. That is why she waits for the usually voluble woman to break the silence stretching between them. 

Thankfully or not, Lyanna begins with a frown. “I have been thinking.” 

Of course, Lyanna had been thinking. Even if Rhaegar never thought to divulge the particulars of his argument with Lyanna, she knows what this is about. Lyanna is young and impetuous; not a lackwit. She is also not without choices. “You decided to go to Winterfell.”

_Gasps ring out in the hall before applause nearly drowns them out. Despite the cheers she smiled at, she notes the meaningful looks directed towards Lyanna…The way Lyanna can’t bring herself to look at either of them without frowning or needing to be prompted…The way whispers now follow all of them._

“Rhaegar told you.”

She stops herself from snapping. It is true after all. “He did.”

Ordinarily Rhaegar respects her wishes and does not recount his and Lyanna’s exchanges with her. This was no ordinary circumstance. Even when the prospect of Lyanna’s departure stirs other concerns, she appreciated the forewarning. If and when Lyanna leaves for Winterfell, along with Rhaegar, she would be responsible for managing the aftermath. 

Lyanna sneers. “Of course he would.” 

She barely manages holding her tongue.

Lyanna frowns. “I suppose it does not matter when I am going to leave.”

She takes a moment to consider how she should begin. “How long will you be gone?”

Lyanna hisses; in disgust, perhaps. “What makes you think I would come back? Or want to?”

She swallows heavily. If only desire could be the thing that mattered...“You would not leave your son behind.”

Lyanna’s face reddens. Anger, not shame or bashfulness. She expected and accepted it. It is cruel of her, but, there are no kinder ways to say what she needs to. 

“Do not throw that back at me!”

While oddly reassuring to see some of the vaunted spark still left in Lyanna, she has no desire to play this game. Trueborn children remain with their father or where their fathers will it. Lyanna would not be able to take Jon with her. Lyanna might not find it so easy to be away either.

While in many ways, she and Lyanna were different, in some things, they were not. “There is nothing for me to throw. I am merely stating what you know. If you resolve to never to return then you may not see him for years.”

Perhaps unfairly, Lyanna’s role in how the realm bled has not been forgotten. Even if Lord Stark desired her return, Lyanna might not be welcome in Winterfell for very long. While she never asked of it, she knew Lyanna and Lady Stark did not share regular correspondence. In time, perhaps, Lyanna might be welcomed wholeheartedly, yet, how welcome would her son be when Rhaegar would not willingly allow his children to be far from him now?

No matter how much she dislikes being forced into it, she must think of these things. She does not have the benefit of being blinded by wounded pride as Lyanna is now.

Had she chosen differently, this would have been her burden to bear. Pride was a funny thing and in her own way, she was its servant, but, in the end she eschewed pride for being near her husband and her children. It gives her little joy to think of, but, she does not have the luxury of ignoring what she disliked; she never had.

“You would love to encourage Rhaegar in that no doubt.”

Her anger stirs faster than her annoyance does. She welcomed Lyanna and Jon. She endured whispers, the jeers, sly looks, and titters. Was this what Lyanna thought of her, someone who would sink so low that they would wait for the chance to be cruel at a future date? Even if Rhaegar would not do it in ways she prefers, she knows how deeply Rhaegar cares for his children. If he saw she could not be trusted, he would have let to go to Dorne. He might have forced her to go.

Perhaps there was more than a touch of cruelty in her after all. “If I was the type, which by now you should know that I am not, I might not be alive to encourage something so vile.”

Another blush now. Embarrassment, this time, or perhaps horror. But, she finds that she does not care especially when Lyanna’s swiftly recovers. “You think you will die.”

While her throat tightens because that too familiar fear her anger still flows. To settle herself she takes another sip of juice. It fails to calm her. Her words come more sharply than she intends because of it. “I was bedridden for six months after Rhaenys and nearly died giving birth to Aegon. Blessed or not I am no fool to rely on good fortune.”

Lyanna looks away. “You still tried for a third.”

She almost laughs. Is this why Lyanna thinks her cruel? Perhaps Lyanna was right. After all, to dismiss thought of another person is cruel and whenever she invited Rhaegar into her bed Lyanna had not been in her thoughts. “A third child was not my intention.” 

To deliberately get with child again when she was certain she could not is ludicrous. Once she could accept it herself, she had not been certain how receptive Rhaegar would have been at the prospect. 

She frowns. Remembering the joy on Rhaegar’s face showed how baseless her fear proved. This, however…

Now, Lyanna looks unusually hesitant. However, as always, the younger woman’s daring wins out. “Why bed him if not to get with child?”

In spite of herself she smiles. Why indeed! So many reasons and none will give Lyanna peace. In the end she settles for the most obvious explanation. “For pleasure.”

Lyanna’s eyes go impossibly wide. “For pleasure?” 

How dubious Lyanna sounds is almost insulting. She wonders at the child-like tone. Had Lyanna believed her to be anything beyond a nursemaid and a vow-less Septa? Because she is not at her best, she finds it far too easy to retort, “Rather pleasure than duty.”

“It was not duty for you?”

Was that it? “No.”

She feels almost guilt at how uncertain and much too young Lyanna seems. Almost.

She bedded Rhaegar out of duty once. While it got her his name and his children, it had not been enough for either of them. When she resolved to stay, she promised herself duty would not consume her. “No and I am not Visenya Targaryen.”

Lyanna sneers. “No. You are not. Visenya only got one night when he came to Rhaenys for ten. ” 

Though she wants to, she does not laugh. It is unworthy of her try and to draw out more of Lyanna’s anger for reacting poorly to decidedly unamusing words. “Quite correct, you and I are Rhaenys and Visenya no more than Rhaegar is the Conqueror. However, I think you did not come to me to speak of history.”

With narrowed eyes, Lyanna sharply adds, “I wanted to discuss why I am leaving.”

“When you are resolved, what is left to discuss?” There is far too much to consider, but, what does Lyanna truly want? What could she hope by coming to her? Could she give her what she wants? Does she want to?

She barely holds in her sigh at Lyanna’s suspicious expression. “Because Rhaegar already told you I was leaving?”

She reveals, “He informed me of your declaration. Little else.”

“You do not know why?” 

Lyanna sounded incredulous. Surely she did not think Rhaegar shared everything with her? The notion of her eagerly sharing words about Lyanna with Rhaegar is curious at best and appalling at worst. In many ways, the prospect is just as unwelcome now as it was months ago.

These, surely, are surprising times, then. Of course, how else could she describe them? She was with child again when no one thought her capable of it and her husband’s other wife intends quitting their household. Not in her wildest imaginings…

A wave of sadness strikes her when realizing what this was about.

She cannot help Lyanna escape this. “You thought Rhaegar would be yours only, that you be the only one to bear his children from the moment you had Jon? You are angry, embarrassed, and hurt because your thoughts proved incorrect and so you wish to leave. Is that it?”

She knows the words are punishing even before they left her mouth, yet, there is little possibility for tact in this. She is far too tired to be tactful when Rhaegar’s other wife sits across the table all but asking her for advice about what she should do with her life. 

“Stop mocking me!”

Her lips pinch together before she brings herself to admit, “I am not.”

Lyanna hisses, “Then, what are you doing?”

“Trying to understand if you will stay or go.”

As drained of energy as Lyanna seemed with her shoulders stooped and her tired eyes, her anger is bright again as she lets out a snarl. “You question my intent? Or is it my judgement you question? I suppose you could do both. I am obviously the grandest fool you have come across.” 

“I do not call you a fool.” 

Lyanna leans forward, grey eyes blazing. “Why not? Everyone probably does.”

She makes no denial because she knows Lyanna will not hear any. She shrugs. “Everyone says many things.”

Lyanna laughs. The sound, sharp and hollow, stings. Lyanna’s laughter never sounds like that. It should not sound like it. “I am a fool. I thought he loved me.”

Even having felt that same doubt before, Lyanna’s statement shocks her. “He does.” Rhaegar would not have done half of what he had if love had not been a part of it all.

Lyanna shakes her head wildly. “Why was it so easy for him to return to your bed, then? I barely had Jon.” Lyanna points to her belly. “And here you are, already with child and he is so happy.”

She lets out a breath. No matter her desires, there is nothing she could do about any of it; neither the glistening eyes before her nor Lyanna’s bitter words. “That meant something to you?” And now it was gone for Lyanna. 

“Shouldn’t it?” 

As much as her pity for innocence lost moves her, part of her wonders at such willful blindness. Perhaps madness gripped her. There can be no other reason for her next words. “Rhaegar met you in between my giving him children.”

Lyanna’s face becomes even redder. “That is not what I meant.”

No, however, that is where this began. “To welcome Rhaegar back to my bed was a rather simple thing. When Rhaegar refused to entertain the possibility of my taking a lover I decided not to risk his displeasure or treason simply because I disliked the prospect of languishing in a lonely bed.”

As angry as she’d been, her choices were limited: to deprive herself of her own husband completely or to carve out a life with him. Beyond that, despite herself, the truth of it was that she missed being with Rhaegar. Even if she had to share her husband with Lyanna, that piece of knowledge is not meant for her husband’s other wife.

How Lyanna’s eyes widen as Viserys’ or Rhaenys’ might at their most shocked is almost comical. “Where does that leave me?” The hurt is so much less so and there is little she can say to lessen it.

“You are his wife and the mother of his child. That I will give him another changes nothing.” A whispered thought flows through her mind about if had she the proclivity the time she might have managed something of the sort passed long ago. She suppresses the thought quickly.

Naturally, her answer frustrates Lyanna. “Do you want me gone or not!”

“I want you to decide what you want.” It is not for her to choose. She will not take the task up. 

Lyanna glances at her suspiciously. “What do you want?”

They were going in circles. To bide time and to sort her thoughts, she looks away and licks her lips. “To ensure that whatever you choose you remain firm.”

“What?”

Agitated once again, she fights another sigh. “I am not comfortable with this sort of uncertainty and upheaval. I would rather not be consumed by thoughts of whether you would stay, go, return, return only to decide you would rather be gone again, or go and decide you would rather return.”

Lyanna glares at her. “My choices will not disrupt your life when my presence hardly does.”

Oh, she shouldn’t, but, she laughs outright. “Your choices already disrupted my life.”

Predictably horrified at the reminder, Lyanna cringes. Seeing it, she tries for some softness. “It is not disruption to my life that I am concerned with most.”

Lyanna’s brows knit together in confusion. “Rhaegar?”

She shakes her head. “The children.”

Lyanna sneers at her. “Please do not tell me you stayed because of them only.”

Irritated, she snaps out, “I almost left. Ask Rhaegar if you do not believe me.”

Lyanna’s lips purse. “I am not going to ask him anything.”

She takes a deep breath. “Do not then. But, you are correct. I did not stay only because of him or them. As much as I hated the situation I was forced into, I quite like my life.” 

While she usually does not regret electing to remain in King’s Landing though times like these are why she wonders what choosing differently would have led to.

She shakes her head. “What could be’ is a magnificent question and a horrible one. 

“Are you are going to tell me that if I go your life will not be better?”

The question stuns her and she blinks stupidly. “Why would it be better?”

The past could not be erased. Lyanna would still be Rhaegar’s wife and his other queen. Her husband would still love another woman. Jon would still be in her household. What would be better simply because Lyanna is not _physically_ present? Even if it could be better, what good is it when she might not live at all?

“Rhaegar would be yours alone and the children would be yours too.”

Stunned, she almost chortles. “Rhaegar has never been mine alone. We both know that his being in my bed does not mean he cannot and will not seek out another’s.”

Lyanna’s cheeks flush again. Seeing it, she presses forward. “As for the children, Jon, though I love him dearly, is your child, not mine. While I would be happy to care for him as I do already, my being with child is precarious enough without having to rely on nurses or Rhaegar’s singular decisions.”

To her surprise, Lyanna ignores that to ask a question she never thought she would hear. “Why would you want me to stay?” 

Once she might have admitted freely she had not wanted Lyanna here. The darker part of her tries not to succumb to still might; and yet, from the moment she saw the girl at her doorstep, she never entertained the idea of making Lyanna go even if she ever had the power to do so.

Once she thought of leaving and chose not to. Had it not been for Rhaegar’s telling her of Lyanna’s intent, she never thought Lyanna would consider the same choice. She does not know how Lyanna would. “Do you want to go?” 

“Would it not be easier on you?”

Once again reminded of Lyanna’s innocence, she finds herself scoffing. “If ease had been my aim, so much would have been different.” 

Lyanna does not respond to that. Instead, Lyanna asks the question she had been dreading. “What should I do?”

She already told Lyanna what she wants her to do. “It is not my place.”

“That is not what I asked.”

At Lyanna’s irritated salvo, she finds her face hardening along with her resolve. “I want you to choose.”

“Choose what?” 

It pains her to see how eager to have her opinion Lyanna is. This, she cannot help Lyanna with. She will not help her with it. “Despite what you might think I do not want you to go, but, it is your decision and I will not make it for you. It is a simple thing. If you desire to remain, do it. If it is in going, go. Whatever you decide, be firm with it. That is what I want.”

Lyanna shivers. “And what if I regret my choice?”

Once more she picks up her chalice wishing it contains something stronger. “Pray you have the strength to live with it.” 

Lyanna looks disappointed, but, she has no answers for Lyanna. It is almost a relief when Lyanna leaves her with no more words and a stiff bow.

Perhaps Lyanna will never regret what she chooses or perhaps she will; but, what may come is beyond her control. She knows what she had done and why, but, it is foolish of her to try and govern what others feel or do. With Lyanna, she had not asked for this responsibility and she does not desire it. She never had. It is just as well Lyanna learn this.

Besides, what good comes from revealing that she has no answers for anyone let alone herself?


End file.
